After All
by The Profane Angel
Summary: Jack's life from Claire's death to the conclusion. A tad dark, a portrait of Jack post-Claire, and a look at possibilities for the coming season s . I don't own L&O, and all those standard disclaimers. Rated for language.


After All - A/N: A look, through vignettes, at Jack's life and how it could end, using the "cliffhanger" of last season and the rumors of Claire Kincaid's possible return for an episode or two if the writers could come up with a plausible explanation. This is merely my speculation on one way that could be accomplished, for whatever that's worth. Burn-out leads to some odd story lines, but hey, it could happen this way.

He woke, alert, and looked at the red LED on his clock. Two. He'd be waking soon, it never failed, Jack always woke two or three minutes before his son did. He knew mothers routinely did it, but Adam's mother was gone. She'd lied to him, to Jack, and left him after all, though it wasn't her fault. If it was anyone's fault, it was his, he was the one who bailed out on her. The hell with her. Those words rang in his brain when he woke, when he shaved, when he fed Adam, when he looked in the mirror, when he looked at his second chair, they rang throughout his being with every breath he took. The hell with her. He got up, reaching for his robe by touch, he'd taken to leaving it on the floor beside the bed, the robe Claire gave him one Christmas, when they were happy, when she was alive and promising she would never leave him.

With practiced stealth, he went into the kitchen and readied Adam's bottle. He'd been born two months before Mickey Scott was executed, he should have insisted Claire stay away from that, that she stay with Adam, he should have handled the whole thing better, he should never have gone head first into a bottle of scotch in a bar. He should never have summoned Claire. He pressed his forehead against the refrigerator, closing his eyes. She'd left him a month ago, and he felt as helpless as Adam, as lost as the little boy would be if Jack just walked out the door and never came back. He'd fought Claire's mother over Adam, ripped her a new set of lungs, no one was taking Claire's son, his son, from him, and that was that.

He heard the cries, and he went into the bedroom with the bottle. It was a small room, Claire had taken such joy in painting it, readying it. He turned on a lamp and looked down at the little boy who was the spitting image of his mother and felt his heart break all over again. "Hey sport," he whispered, and picked him up, backing into the antique rocking chair Claire found at one of the downtown markets. The little guy's mouth found the bottle and he drank, his eyes acquiring that satisfied glow his mother's used to in different circumstances. Tears came to Jack's eyes, as they so often did these days, and he let them fall on the baby's face, he didn't mind. "Your mother loved you," he whispered, "you had one hell of a mother, sport. And I miss her so much." His shoulders shook, but he kept a firm grip on his son, Claire's son.

Adam Schiff was more than understanding, allowing Jack the flexible hours he needed right now, as he adjusted to single fatherhood. Adam was the one who found the nanny for his namesake, a no-nonsense British nanny as far removed from Mary Poppins as his new ADA was from Claire Kincaid. He thought of Jamie Ross and closed his eyes, what had Adam been thinking? He wasn't ready for a new ADA, let alone one who looked at him with unconcealed pity when she wasn't staring at him in outrage. Claire. He opened his eyes and looked down at Adam, who was nearly asleep again, the bottle almost empty. He's going to look exactly like you, Claire, and if he's as sensitive, as vulnerable, as you were, I'm going to let him be exactly that. He looked at the picture of Claire he kept on Adam's dresser, how do I tell you that I essentially killed your mother, son? Call it a horrible accident, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, call it what you want, I bailed out on her and she died, she left us both and we're going to have to find our way together.

He put the sleeping baby back in his crib, covered him with a quilt, turned out the lamp, and walked into his living room. He sat on the couch, staring blindly at the far wall. He'd never known the human heart could hurt like this, that a hole could erupt and then keep spreading, would it ever scar over?

You can't raise that baby alone, Jack McCoy, Claire's mother raged, the day they buried her. Let us take him, he deserves better than an alcoholic father who left his mother to die! And so he wasn't the only one who blamed him, he thought, remembering how he'd turned on Mrs. Gellar and all his rage and pain poured out as he screamed if you come anywhere near my son I will have your ass, you have no rights to him and he's never going to know you, what you did to his mother all her life, you stay the fucking hell away from my son. And he'd turned and walked away, to Anita Van Buren, twenty feet away, holding Adam, and watching the scene with horror.

He thought he felt Claire next to him on the couch, the sensation was so strong he turned his head, only to see the emptiness he would know for the rest of his life. Still, he felt her, he knew what she felt like next to him, loving him, teasing him, arguing with him over some stupid thing. "Are you here?" he whispered, oh God, please be here, and his eyes filled with tears again. He almost thought he felt a hand on his shoulder, felt her comfort, her love, and it tore him open again, he fell over and sobbed, his heart broken, yet he had to go on, he had Adam Kincaid McCoy now, his last act of love for Claire would be to raise that boy to be the kind of man she wanted him to be. He had the sensation again, of her hand stroking his face, comforting him, and he wanted so much to believe there was an afterlife, that she was here, but he couldn't, it was just pain and wishful thinking. Then he felt warmed, as if she was lying beside him, and a quiet sense of comfort overtook him. He needed to go back to bed, he had responsibilities, his son, their son, would awaken again in a few hours and he would feed him before the nanny arrived.

He got up and stumbled back to bed, he swore he felt her arm on his elbow, steadying him, and it was just too much. He fell onto their bed and buried his face in the pillow, crying, curling into a tight ball, why could he feel her but not see her, was he losing his mind, would he lose their son, the only thing he had left of her? He heard her voice in his head, "Easy, Jack." How many times had she said that to him, he wondered. "Go easy, it wasn't your fault."

He sat up then, she'd never said that to him. Clutching his pillow to his chest, he looked around the room, she was here and he knew it. He wanted so much to see her. The room was warm, he felt warm, almost too warm, as if she was next to him and he so desperately wanted to see her, to know, to be certain he wasn't losing his mind. Part of him wanted a drink, but he hadn't touched booze since that night, when his heart died and some mechanical thing kept beating. He listened intently, feeling her so powerfully, wanting absolution so much, and knowing he wasn't worth it. "It wasn't your fault, Jack," she said again, in his head. "You have to take care of Adam, you have to let me go. I won't leave you, Jack, I'll always be watching over you."

"Can I see you?" he begged, thank God no one else could hear him talking to a dead woman in an empty room.

"No," was the soft reply, and he felt her hand caress his hair, take his shoulder and squeeze it, so warm, so kind. "But I swear I'm OK and I will always be around, watching over you. I love you."

00000000

Jack brought Jamie Ross home for dinner. As he opened the door, three year old Adam barreled toward him, and he dropped his briefcase, picking him up, kissing him, then turned to introduce him. He'd never brought a woman home, he didn't even date, but Jamie was having a tough time and he wanted to support her the way she supported him.

"Adam. This is my friend, Jamie."

Adam studied her, frowning. "She has dark hair like Mommy."

"She does."

Jamie smiled at the little boy. She'd seen pictures of Claire, and she was struck by the resemblance the little boy bore to his mother. Jack put him down and he ran off, with a three year old's energy, to do something of grave importance in another room. Mrs. Watkins, the nanny and housekeeper, came out of the kitchen.

"It's all ready, Mr. McCoy." She gave Jamie an appraising look. "Adam did well at preschool. I'll get him ready for bed and then be off."

"Thank you." Jack felt awkward, having Jamie in the house, what would Claire think, even though it was innocent, and he knew she'd want him to get on with things. She'd never believe he'd been celibate since the night she died. And then he remembered his dreams, she knew, she checked on him, loved him in his dreams, every so often. He took Jamie's coat, offered a drink, got a Diet Coke for himself, he still avoided alcohol, he was too afraid of losing Adam. Adam, with his mother's face and merry laugh, her light brown eyes, her silky black hair, and her inquisitive, searching mind. As he and Jamie sat on the couch, idly chatting, Adam came back, in his pajamas, and climbed in his father's lap. Jack focused completely on him.

"Mrs. Watkins says I have to go to bed, Daddy. That you need privacy. Why?"

Jack smiled. "Because Jamie has some things she wants to talk about, and as charming as you are, as much as we'd enjoy your company, we need to talk."

"Like Mommy talks to me sometimes?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, this was a first. "When does Mommy talk to you, Adam?"

"At night. She wakes me up and we play and talk. She says we have to be quiet because you need to sleep. She says someone has to throw the bad guys under the jailhouse, and if you're tired, you can't do it."

He smiled. "OK, well, we'll talk about it later, sweet son." He kissed him. "Go, off to bed, I'll check on you later."

Adam scrambled down and trotted off to his room. Jack looked at Jamie, who arched her eyebrows. "New one for me," he said, "Kids and their imaginations."

Jamie smiled, a sweet smile. "Maybe. And maybe she does come play with her son."

"Surely you don't believe in the afterlife, Jamie."

"I do. The question is, do I believe in ghosts?" She sipped her drink. "Sometimes I think I do." She shrugged. "You sure as hell live with one, whether you'll acknowledge it or not."

"I thought we were going to talk about you." He stopped as Mrs. Watkins came out, ready to go home.

"I'll see you in the morning, Mr. McCoy. Pleased to meet you, Miss Ross."

"Thank you, Mrs. Watkins," Jack said, and watched her leave. Then he turned back to Jamie. "Ready to eat?"

"Yes, but I want to hear you admit, just once, that the ghost of Claire Kincaid haunts you, even if I don't mean literally."

They went into the kitchen, where a simple meal of baked pasta and salad waited. They served plates, then sat at the table. Jack looked at Jamie. "OK. I live with the ghost of the woman I love, how could I not, I have our son. But it's in the heart, it's not real."

"I know." She sipped her wine. "It's been three years, Jack, when are you going to start dating again?"

He frowned. "When her equal come around. Besides, I'm too busy with Adam to think about dating." They both knew he'd never find her equal, the scars on his heart were too thick, but what he knew and she did not was that she was still with him, literally, and he wouldn't risk losing that, lose those visits in his dreams when she loved him. They began to talk about Jamie's problems, talking deep into the night, then Jack saw her into a taxi and went to bed.

She's a good woman, Jack. In his dreams, he sat up and looked at Claire. Yes, but not for me. Claire smiled. No, not for you, not for Adam. You're doing a good job with him. She reached out and touched his face, whispering I love you, Jack McCoy, and I always will.

00000000

Eight year old Adam McCoy studied Abbie Carmichael's face, then looked at his father and shook his head. Jack looked at Abbie and shrugged, smiling, the kid was merely saying this woman was not like his mother, the mother he'd heard about all his life from his father, whose face he'd studied, who he swore he saw when he was younger. Then he walked away, into his bedroom, closing the door.

"God, he's cute," Abbie said.

"Thank you. Spitting image of his mother. It's like I had nothing to do with him at all, she did it all by herself, the way he's so much like her." Jack poured a drink for Abbie, a Diet Coke for himself.

"Jack." Abbie leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter, cradling her glass between her palms. "I'm not sure how to say this, but I'll try. I've heard people talking. It's been eight years, Jack. You need a life for yourself."

He frowned, warning signals flaring in his eyes. "And then it will be nine, fifteen, thirty." He sipped his drink. "I had the best, Abbie, I won't settle for less, and Adam doesn't deserve less."

"What do you tell him about his mother, Jack? That she was perfect?"

He leaned on the counter, opposite Abbie, his dark eyes darker with anger. "I tell him she was beautiful and kind and smart and loved the hell out of him, and me. And that she wanted only the best for him, which I'm busting my ass to give him."

"You don't date, you just work and come home to him." She frowned. "He isn't her, Jack."

"I know that. Jesus God, what's gotten into you?"

She put her drink on the counter. "Nothing. Everything." She straightened up. "I guess," she said, and took a deep breath, "I wanted to step into her place, to make you happy, the way I hear she made you happy."

He was taken aback. He stared at her, his eyes going soft, and then he smiled, gently, and reached for one of her hands. "I'm sorry," he said. "No one can do that. It's just the way it is."

That night he dreamed. Claire sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at him. "Pushy broad, isn't she?" she teased, and Jack reached for her. She stretched out beside him, using his shoulder for a pillow. "She's right, Jack, you have to let me go and find someone to make you happy. I'm in a wonderful place, Jack, believe me, and I'll be here when you come, but you need to get back into life. It's been long enough." He stroked her face, her hair, he whispered I don't want anyone else. She propped herself on her elbow and traced the lines of his face with those long, delicate fingers he remembered so well, then said "You have to, Jack. I won't be allowed to come if you don't start living again, I'm holding you back." And he woke crying, feeling like he was losing her all over again.

0000000

Then she came, to replace Abbie, a slender brunette, delicate like Claire, with a similar vulnerability. She touched his heart, but she was so young, as Claire had once been so young, but he was much older now, ten years older, and the age difference bothered him. Still, he found himself thinking of her often, looking at her when she wasn't aware of it, and finally he invited her out for a drink.

They had a good time. He told her about Adam, the kid was ten pushing eighteen, he listened to her stories. It was a nice night, and he went home feeling lighter than he had in years.

And so he began dating Alex, quietly, he brought her home to meet Adam when he was certain he felt things for her. Adam liked her, he didn't push her away as he had the few others who'd come by the house. He never spent the night with Alex, nor she with him, but he knew he was opening to life again, to loving again.

And then horror reached for him again, ripped her away from him, again he felt responsible. When he came home, on the dreadful day they found her body in the trunk of a car, Adam sat solemnly beside him on the couch. Tears kept leaking from Jack's eyes, and he savagely wiped them away with the back of his hand.

"Dad."

He looked at Adam. "Yeah."

"Were you like this when Mom died?"

He put his arm around his boy, and this time let the tears flow, for Alex, for Claire, for all he'd lost. "Worse," he mumbled. "Much worse."

"Think Alex is hanging out with Mom?"

"Probably. Your mother probably met her, to show her around, make her comfortable, thank her for being good to you."

A tear slipped from Adam's eye, too. "Will you catch the guys who did this to her?"

"Yes." He squeezed Adam's shoulder.

"Will they go to jail for longer than the guy who killed Mom?"

"Much longer."

When he finally slept that night, he dreamed of Claire, which he hadn't done in a long time. She sat with him, holding his head in her lap. "I'm so sorry, Jack, that it turned out this way. Alex is OK, she's adjusting, it takes a little time, but she's fine. She loved you, and I'm very grateful for that, for the things she did with Adam. I wish I could make it better for you." He let her comfort him, knew she understood, and he was content to listen to her soft voice tell him everything would be all right.

00000000

Jack worked, Jack took care of Adam, kept him in the better private schools, and Jack dreamed of Claire maybe once every couple of months. Now that Adam was ready to go off to college, he started drinking again, and a week after Adam left for Harvard, Jack was appointed interim DA.

One of his first cases hit one of his deeply buried hot buttons, an armed auxiliary officer firing into a crowd of protesters, too much like Kent State, and he went after the man with more passion than his subordinates expected. He'd aged rapidly in the years since Claire died, he felt very much like an old man, and he was tired. He hated the political side of the job, but he worked with the governor, did his best, saw his son on holidays, and then learned the governor had set him up to take a terrible fall, to steal from him the only thing that mattered, his integrity.

That night Claire came, and he wasn't dreaming, he was awake, he'd just turned off the lamp and settled on his pillow. She stood beside the bed and smiled down at him, and his heart lurched. "My love," she said, and she sat beside him, feeling solid, real.

"Claire?" He reached out, touched her, really touched her. "What the hell?"

She leaned over and kissed him, and it was real enough, warm and soft. "Bad things are coming, Jack, you're in for a dreadful fight." She stretched out beside him, fitting herself to him as she always did, and he put his arm around her. "You won't win this one, Jack."

He looked at her, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"The set up." She kissed him again, and he wondered how this could be real. She slipped on top of him, kissing him for all she was worth, and he stopped questioning reality, questioning anything, all he knew was he had the woman he had loved so in his arms again, and he didn't think about the implications. They made love slowly, it had been so long, and when it was finally over, Jack lying on his back, he reached for her face, cupping her jaw, smiling so sweetly at her.

"How is this possible?" He asked.

She frowned slightly, then shook it off. She sat up and took his hand. "C'mon, stand up," she said, holding his hand tightly. He got up with her, and then looked back at the bed. He looked so peaceful there, as if he was sleeping, and he looked at Claire, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

"What?" he said.

"You couldn't win this one, Jack, it was all stacked against you. This way, it will never come out, there's no need, no use for it, and Adam will never know the humiliation of his beloved father falsely accused of corruption in its various forms." She put her arm around him. "I promised you I'd be here when it was time."

"I'm dead?" His voice cracked, he certainly didn't feel dead.

"Your heart," she simply said. She seemed to glow, and he looked at himself as best he could, he seemed younger. She reached up to touch his face. "You're the age you were when I died. Come, it's time."

He was standing with her in a sunny park, full of people, all clearly happy. She led him to an older man playing chess under a tree with another older guy, and waited until the man looked up. "Uncle Pete," she said, "This is my Jack."

The man stood and embraced Jack. "Welcome, Jack McCoy. You'll like it here."

"My son -"

"He'll be fine," the man Claire called Uncle Pete said. "You raised him well, he's a fine young man. Show him around, Claire." He sat down, back to his game.

Claire still held Jack's hand, and they wandered through the huge park, with its massive oaks, thick grass, eternal sunshine. Children ran, teenagers threw Frisbees, people sat and talked, it was beautiful and peaceful. "Something you always wondered about, Jack," she said, and she led him over a hill. There, in the shade, were four kids in their late teens or early twenties, and they stood when they saw Jack. A beautiful girl approached and hugged him, he was going to have to get used to this.

"You never forgot us, Mr. McCoy," she said, "Thank you."

Claire pulled him away and he asked, "Who?"

"The students from Kent. They hang together, greet other young people."

"Is my father here?"

"Not that I know of." She smiled. "This place is unbelievably huge, and segregated to some extent, you're with people you want to be with. We usually travel by thought, but this is your first day, you need to get used to it."

"Claire, am I dreaming?"

"No, my love." She led him under an oak and sat down, pulling him with her. "We have eternity now, we can watch our son grow into manhood, we can, we will, be truly happy. Oh. Alex is here, she wants to see you, but she wanted to wait until you'd had some time."

He hadn't thought of Alex in a long time, not seriously - sometimes something would remind him of her and he'd feel the familiar pangs of regret and guilt, but she'd been with the DA's office for just over a year, not long enough to leave a lasting mark, except for her terrible exit. He looked at Claire with a shy smile.

"I'd like to see her. I told Adam, when she died, that you'd probably met her and were taking care of her. He took her death hard."

"I know."

He cocked his head, remembering. "Did you used to visit Adam when he was little?"

"I did. Small children don't have the barriers. I spent a lot of time playing with him, reading to him. He saw me as corporeal, he was able to crawl in my lap when I read to him, for example. Then he got older, he learned 'ghosts' weren't real, and I had to content myself with simply watching over him."

"And me. My dreams."

"That was definitely me, old pal." She smiled. "It's easy to enter a dream. There were a couple of times when Alex wanted to do it, but she recognized that your dreams were my exclusive property." Her smile was almost sardonic. "When I had my interview with the Big Guy, my life review, he said my love for you was more than simple human chemistry, and he gave you to me as your white lighter, to watch over you and Adam." She looked around the park, laughter carried on the gentle breeze, and she smiled, that radiant smile he knew well. "Ready to see Alex?"

He nodded. She closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them, she took his hand and then Alex Borgia stood before them, so young, vulnerable, pretty. She smiled, joyously, and sat beside Jack, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. "Alex," he said, the wonder in his voice unmistakable.

"Jack." She sat back on her bottom, taking his free hand. "It's so good to see you. And while it's a little late, you shouldn't have felt guilty about my demise. It was meant to be. I just wish it hadn't been so, uh, ugly." She looked at Claire and smiled fondly. "Claire met me and brought me over, she said she had much to thank me for." She brushed the back of Jack's hand. "How's Adam? Uncle Pete wouldn't allow me visiting privileges, said those were Claire's."

"He's fine, a terrific young man, very much like his mother." He looked at Claire with love shining in his eyes. "This is so unreal," he said. "I don't understand it."

"It's called the afterlife," Claire explained. "This is the welcoming area, a place that's so familiar to the freshly dead that it's comforting. And some of us can choose to stay here, as long as we take on certain duties. Otherwise, the Big Guy assigns your place. We can come and go from here, though, like when one of our loved ones comes, to greet them, hang with them until their interview and assignment. Usually, if it's family or a close friend, they're assigned to your area. Alex and I have the same section - guess our professions and our mutual love for you was bond enough for the Big Guy."

"By Big Guy you mean--"

"God," Alex said. "Life review. That can be unpleasant, but it's over quickly. It won't happen until you've adjusted to your new state." She cocked her head, and her expression changed, she stood. "I'm being called, my niece is coming. Jack, I am so happy to see you, and I'll see you again." She bent down and kissed the top of his head. "I feel privileged to see the two of you together, after hearing all the stories. Gotta go." And she was gone.

"Wow." Jack shook his head, and focused on Claire. "Adam," he said.

"We can watch him, if you'd like, communicate comfort to him." She interlaced her fingers with his.

"I don't understand any of this," he said. "I thought heaven was for hopeless romantics."

She smiled. "Imagine my surprise, when I found myself standing outside that car, next to a freaking Lennie, my corpse in the car. My white lighter was late," she laughed, "so I had a couple of minutes to suffer the bewilderment and panic."

"Who met you?"

"My maternal grandmother. I'm afraid she had quite a battle on her hands, I wanted to be with you, and Adam, and Uncle Pete had to intervene, call me into a counseling session." She found it all amusing in retrospect. "He allowed me to visit you and Adam, but warned me if I held you back, those visits would stop. You needed to get on with life. I thought it was a dirty trick, what happened with Alex. She was so good for you and Adam. I sort of kicked Uncle Pete in the shins when he told me I had to go meet her. I argued that you were happy again, that you'd found someone to fill the void, but he said it wasn't his decision, that we all come with a time card, and when that allotted time runs out…" She ruffled his hair.

"And my time?"

"You were going down, Jack, no matter how hard you fought, and Uncle Pete said it had been decided to accelerate your passing by a few weeks, to spare Adam. And one rule here is that a true love, a soul mate if you will, goes to meet the other. It's sort of the heavenly stamp of approval on the relationship."

He cupped her face. "I can't believe all this."

"I know. It takes time, love." She tilted her head. "We should go. Just hold on to me."

Suddenly they were standing in Jack's apartment, the police were there, and a pale Adam came through the front door, escorted by Lieutenant Rey Curtis. He walked into his father's bedroom and looked down. "He looks so peaceful," he whispered. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "Oh God." His voice cracked. "I hope he's with Mom." He looked at the Lieutenant. "Did you know my mother?"

"I did. Wonderful lady. I knew your father for a long time, and I can honestly say he was crazy in love with her. Just her. Her death shattered him. I believe in God, Adam, I believe in an afterlife, so I believe they're together."

He knelt by the bed and touched his father's cold forehead. "I hope so."

Jack looked at Claire. "He's hurting, what can we do?"

"Nothing," she said. "If we get close to him, he might feel us. He's always been able to feel me, even if he didn't recognize it." Still holding hands, they stood beside their son, Jack reached with his free hand to touch his boy, who had silent tears streaming down his face. Claire joined her hand with his, and together they rested their hands on Adam McCoy's young head. After a moment, he wiped the last of his tears and stood, facing the Lieutenant.

"The funeral home is on the way?" Curtis nodded. "Good. Small and simple. I have to think that after all he went through, he'd want that, and all I've ever wanted was to please him. To please the ghost we lived with, metaphorically speaking." He looked at his father again, his young face composed now, he felt peace and it surprised him. "I believe, I have to believe, that they're together, that after everything, they're finally together again."

"Sometimes the things a man most desperately needs to believe are the things that may or may not be true," Curtis said, "but I agree with you. He lived in a special kind of hell after your mother died, a hell of loneliness, and I have to believe that a merciful, loving God would join them again, after all of that." He looked at the young man, whose face stirred dim memories of a young ADA who had touched his heart with her beauty and vulnerability, wanting to lead him away from the empty shell that had been his father. "Want to get some coffee, Adam?"

Adam nodded, then he bent to kiss his father's forehead. "I love you, Dad. Say hello to Mom for me, and tell her I'm trying to be the man she wanted."

Jack and Claire watched him straighten his shoulders, draw a deep breath, and walk with the middle-aged lieutenant out of the room. Jack looked at Claire, and suddenly they were back in the park, under a shady tree. "He'll make it, won't he?" Jack asked.

"I think so. You raised him well, I couldn't have asked for more." She leaned forward and kissed him. "And now it's our time, love, we have all the time in the world. C'mon, let me show you around."

He rose, holding her hand, still marveling at it all. The memories of the pain he'd felt when she left him was gone, all he felt was a happiness akin to joy at being with her, at knowing she wouldn't be ripped from him again, that he'd left at the right time, and he realized that, despite what appeared to be evidence to the contrary, God knew what he was doing after all.

END


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